


The Isabella Summers Guide to Relaxation and Avoiding the Press

by songsaboutdrowning



Category: Florence + the Machine
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-11 05:39:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/475113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songsaboutdrowning/pseuds/songsaboutdrowning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Florence's celebrity life is taking the energy out of her. Isa decides to arrange a simple "normal person" day out to make her feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Isabella Summers Guide to Relaxation and Avoiding the Press

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah idek about that title. I couldn’t find anything better.
> 
> I just want to take a minute to gloat about my psychic powers:  
> \- this was written before [#onlygirlintheworld](https://twitter.com/isamachine/status/221740046733160448)  
> \- this was written before [Isa’s tweet that she was going to Primark](https://twitter.com/isamachine/status/223838224269836288)  
> enjoy!

She’s halfway through a holiday in America when the photos start appearing. Florence, still in London, is gracing several events with her presence. Openings, art galleries, charity balls. Someone always ends up tweeting these pictures at her for some reason or another, and it would normally annoy her, but something catches her eye one night.

No one would notice this; no one would see anything but flawlessness in the photo of her friend clad in a skintight long gown, her makeup spotless, patiently posing for the cameras. They wouldn’t, but she does. She sees dark shadows under Flo’s eyes and her lips are a little bit too tight and her face a little too haggard, and she recognises the signs that her best friend is on her way to exhaustion.

She grabs her phone and sends a text. _Are you ok? x_

_Sure, I’m in a cab home. Why? x_

Isabella doesn’t really want to say “because you look awful”. Because Florence doesn’t, really, technically speaking. She looks just as good as any other day, but as the popular phrase goes, her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

_Nothing, was just thinking of you. Do you want to do something relaxing when I get home? A holiday, or something?_

_Smooth, Isabella. Very smooth. X_

Ok, so she didn’t fall for it. But she didn’t say no either.

_Is that a yes?_

_Can’t be that bad if it involves you, can it? Just pick a day. I’ll keep myself free for you. What’s the time over there?_

_Just gone 9pm. Getting ready to go out._

_2am here. I’ll be home soon. Sweet dreams, Isa x_

_Nite nite bb. Take care of yourself xx_

She pointedly puts one more kiss at the end of her message than Florence has, because to her that means she loves Florence more - more than Florence loves herself, that is.

Her plan begins to take shape.

=

When Isa knocks on Florence’s front door one Friday morning, Florence doesn’t expect her to be accompanied, but she is. Behind her stand three girls, who in some way all look very similar to Florence. Tall, leggy redheads, although their hair shades are all slightly different, all of them wearing high heels or wedges which make Isa look like a smurf in comparison – despite her ever-present stilettos.

Florence just stands rooted to her spot and stares, searching for something to say. She doesn’t even move aside to let them into her house. Eventually, she manages to put some words together.

“Ok… I’m confused.”

Isabella brushes past her, and the three girls follow. They haven’t said anything yet, but they’re all smiling conspiratorially. One of them is carrying a giant brown paper bag. Florence closes the door and leads the way into the living room, wanting to hug Isa, since it’s the first time they see each other in a while, but at the same time not wanting to in front of strangers.

“So!” Isabella starts, conscious of being centre of attention. “I happened to notice that you’ve been dragged from one event to the other with no time to do something… _nice_ , and _simple_.” She declares. “Therefore, today I am taking you to do just that. Now, there are roughly a dozen photographers just across the road from here and on the way to the park. I didn’t really count. Which is why I brought help. These are Jessica, Imogen, and Hayley. In no particular order.”, she adds, smirking. “And today, they’re going to play _you_.”

Florence looks a mixture of terrified and bemused, like she’s woken up in a different universe.

“Did you put an advert somewhere asking to recruit people who looked like me?” She asks, in a shrill, panicked voice.

“Yes, my friend. I did just that. Gumtree, in fact. These girls are getting £50 each for doing us a very big favour. And, of course, they get to meet _you_.” Isa says cheekily, perfectly conscious that the girls are just in it for the money. She especially chose them that way.

“You’re out of your mind,” Florence comments, but it’s almost starting to make sense – almost.

“The plan is, you all leave together at the same time, so the photographers won’t really know which is the real you and who to follow. You will disperse _really quickly_ before they can just decide to break down into teams. The girls already know where they need to be going. One of them is going to come with you and then you split up again when you get off the bus. You need to get to Elephant station and wait for me outside the big Tesco. Understood?”

“You’re out of your mind,” Florence repeats, like a broken record.

“Well… it worked on Harry Potter.”

=

Isa gets the brown paper bag back from Florence lookalike #2, and whips out four identical t-shirts and four identical pairs of shorts.

“I thought they could at least keep their own shoes, don’t you?”

“Isa, are you mad, wasting your money like this? It’s not worth it!!” They’ve been out and about so many times before, and yes they were photographed, but it wasn’t that big a deal – was it?

“It was Primark, Flo. It didn’t break the bank.”

“You bought _Rihanna_ t shirts?”

“Every kid in London has one of these, Florence. You’ll fit right in.” Isa says, even though she’s aware that most kids in London do not have endless legs like Flo has, or flawless skin, or hair so red it stands out in a crowd. She just wants to go back a few years, when they could do whatever they wanted without being followed around or recognised. A thought springs to her mind.

“Don’t put lipstick on, ok? We’ve got to stay as subdued as we can.”

  
_Says the girl who’s wearing stilettos under what’s likely to be a pair of gym shorts._ Florence thinks, dubious. 

“And if you could get a couple of pairs of big sunglasses, for the girls, you know, otherwise it’ll be way too obvious they’re not you. I brought a couple of pairs of my own. Cheap ones,” she adds, knowing some of Florence’s vintage stuff cost several hundred pounds.

Then she smiles and says, “Now before I make my way out, do any of you girls want a commemorative photo with Florence?”

=

When she meets Isa outside of Tesco’s, she finds her with three large shopping bags gathered around her feet, in addition to her already massive handbag. It’s clear that she’s been killing time while waiting for Florence to catch up. She gives two bags to Florence unceremoniously and looks her up and down, thinking maybe she isn’t _totally_ unrecognisable but it’s the best effort she could make.

“This is our picnic,” she says. “I hope you remembered to wear a bikini instead of underwear, as per my instructions.”

“Where are we going?”, Florence asks.

“Just you wait.”

=

“You’ve taken me to the Ladies’ pond?” Florence says, as Isa pays for their admission. “Isa, if you wanted to tell me you were a lesbian you could have just come out.”

“Shut up, you idiot,” Isa says, producing two rolled-up beach towels out of her handbag and shoving one into Florence’s chest. “This is a _women-only_ pond. There were ten photographers outside your house this morning, and they were _all male._ ”

“Oh,” Florence says. Isa’s definitely gone to great lengths with this plan of hers. She decides not to mention that paparazzi have telephoto lenses, not wanting to spoil a nice day out and the effort that Isa has clearly put into planning it.

“Do you want to go for a swim?”, Isa asks as they stroll along the path.

“No, not right now,” Florence says, looking around for the perfect spot on the grass. She finds one that’s sunny but not too far from a tree, in case they want shade, and she and Isa lay their towels down. “I’m starving. I didn’t have breakfast ‘cause I thought you were taking me to brunch and _that_ never happened.”

Isa smiles a contented smile at the banter and sets down her towel in the place that Florence picked, unpacking the sandwiches, wine and snacks that she bought. As she pours red into two plastic cups, Florence says “Tell me about your holiday”, and she does.

=

Florence will never admit this, but she is jealous that Isa went on holiday by herself and she had to stay behind; not that she was invited, but she’s convinced with enough pouting she would have been allowed to go along. Sadly, PR took priority over her heart’s desires.

She looks out at the pond, at the sun reflecting on the water, giving the impression of a hot summer day. _Hot_ summer days are rare to come by, though; they’re lucky it’s not raining, to be honest. Through some celestial coincidence, Isa has picked a dry day for their picnic – or maybe she believes in checking the weather forecast.

“How does it feel to be back to your roots, then,” she asks Isabella, wondering if she already misses the week she spent partying in America. Florence struggles to understand which is real life most of the time. Her days are so different and they go from red carpets one day and having drinks with celebrities, to eating £2 sandwiches in a park in North London with her best friend.

“I’ve told you this before, Flo – roots are not places. They’re people.” Isa scolds, lovingly.

“What I said still applies,” replies Florence, curtly, almost annoyed. Surely it’s important for Isa to come home to her? Surely. Or are her other friends more like roots to Isa than Florence herself?

She stands up and swiftly pulls her Rihanna t-shirt over her head and slips out of her shorts. “I’m gonna go feel the water,” she says, boldly, even though just stripping down to her bikini is making goosebumps appear all over her arms.

“Be careful,” Isa calls after her, but she doesn’t really make a lot of effort to be heard and Flo’s already at the edge of the pond.

She can only get in as far as her knees before she decides this was really not a good idea. She just wanted to get away for a minute, but she’ll be damned if she shows she’s giving up too soon.

=

When she’s finally been stomach-deep in water for an appropriate amount of time, she makes her way back up, appreciating the way the grass feels under her bare feet. Isa is playing with her phone and it looks like she’s facetiming with someone, maybe; but she’s cleared the towels from all their food and she quickly hangs up her call before Florence reaches her.

Flo wraps her towel around herself and sits cross-legged, still wearing it. She’s facing Isa, who raises an eyebrow at something behind Florence’s back. Flo turns around to see a couple staring at them. They were clearly pointing, as well, but lowered their arms just in time. Quickly, she turns back towards Isa, and says a silent prayer that they don’t walk up to them.

When she finally feels safe, she lays her damp towel back down on the grass, and puts her clothes back on. Isa’s “don’t wear makeup” rule is clearly ineffective when there are a million other tell-tale signs of who Florence is: hair; legs; the ability to pull off even the most shapeless piece of clothing.

Once she’s dressed, she curls up on the towel in a fetal position, and rests her head on Isa’s thigh, her face hidden against Isa’s t-shirt.

“Can I just stay here for a while?”, she asks.

Isa doesn’t reply, but she does run her fingers through Flo’s hair with a sigh.

=

When she opens her eyes it looks like the sun has disappeared behind a tree and the breeze is bordering on unpleasant, but she actually feels much better. A dreamless sleep is as rare as it is welcome in her life. Isa has one hand casually draped over her arm, which provides not shelter but comfort, and her other hand is balancing a book on her right thigh.

Florence stirs. “How long was I out for?”

“Not long,” Isa responds. “About half an hour. Do you want an ice cream?”

“Always,” Flo says, rolling up onto her back with a sleepy smile.

“You go get it then,” Isa chuckles, prodding Florence with her knee so she gets up. “I bought the picnic, it’s about time you do something.”

“’llow you!” Florence protests, sending Isa into a fit of laughter.

“The true South Londoner comes out, I see!! I _knew_ that poised RP bullshit was just an act!” Isa doesn’t move from her sitting position, and for a fleeting second Florence wants to kiss that wicked grin off her face.

She doesn’t have anything to throw at Isa except the fiver in her hand, so she reluctantly stalks off to find the ice cream van.

=

The sunglasses do a very poor job of hiding her identity. She can hear the whispers behind her as she stands in the queue; they go _it’s Florence! I told you it was her! It’s definitely Florence!_

_Was that her girlfriend then?_ , someone else asks.  _The blonde one?_

Florence’s skin crawls and when she finally walks away with a cone in each hand she feels the blood rush back to her face like she’s averted an absolute disaster.

As she’s walking back to Isa, a young girl does pass her and say hello which, however, makes her giggle. The way that no matter where she is, people feel like they know her. It doesn’t cost her anything to say hello back and smile. Thank god she didn’t ask for a photo because she doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of a tantrum if she gets back to Isa with the ice cream all melted due to stopping for too long.

Isa sees Florence coming – she’s been watching her this entire time, in fact. She walks fast, barefoot even on the asphalt, with small, nervous steps. Isa has been trying so hard to make her relax but it seems like Florence is in a perpetual state of self-consciousness. Her heart feels like it’s momentarily shrunk as she just wants Florence to be happy. Really and truly. To do things because she wants to and not because she has to.

Florence plops back onto her towel and as soon as she’s passed Isa her ice cream, she lifts up her sunglasses and rests them on top of her head.

“Interesting insight for you,” she says, slurping chocolate all around her cone and off her fingers, “not only did every single person in that queue make me feel watched like I was in a fish tank. Some people _also_ seem to think that we’re a couple.”

Isa resists the urge to suggest they should totally pretend that they are. She knows better, and news travels fast. “Not my fault half your fans are gay, Flo,” is what she says instead.

“Not _my_ fault you pick a renowned lesbian spot to have a picnic, Isa. Besides – they’re  your fans, too.”

Isa looks at her skeptically, thinking she’s lucky if people even know there’s another girl in the band. Ok, so maybe it wasn’t the most logical choice of place, but short of staying holed up in their own houses, there’s hardly anywhere they can go, these days.

“One day,” Isa declares, “we will go to the smallest, most godforsaken country in the world – I don’t know where that is, but I’ll find it – and we will just be there and no one will know us and you’ll be alright. Either that, or you can buy an island when you get rich enough. I’ll chip in, obviously.”

Florence’s heart swells for a minute, hearing about Isa’s crazy projects. Maybe being at the women’s pond is playing tricks with her mind, but she thinks she would actually enjoy that very much.

“I would totally buy an island to live on with you, Isa. We could call it Is-land. You know, like Isa-land but with a silent _a_.”

“That is _such_ a crap name,” Isa laughs, her voice going up at the end.

“Who’s the true South Londoner now?” Florence jokes.

And it barely registers in Isabella’s mind that this banter isn’t funny to anyone except the two of them, and that Florence’s smile has finally reached her eyes. And when Florence thanks her with a kiss on the lips, she doesn’t give a shit about photographers or being around gay fans at a gay pond.

“What was that for?” she asks, unfazed.

Florence looks suddenly shy as she whispers, “I’m just happy you’re back.”

It doesn’t matter if Flo doesn’t understand when Isa says, “I’m happy _you’re_ back, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is just one last note for people not from London who might not know what “allow you” means. Like my beta actually questioned it. [Explanation here](http://www.thesprout.co.uk/en/news/its-like-slang-like/01748.html). it’s a real expression I promise. it’s chavvy which is the whole point.


End file.
